


A Strange Thing Happened in the Desert

by Brumeier



Category: Stargate Atlantis, The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: Attraction, Community: mcsheplets, Emotional Baggage, First Kiss, Hospitalization, M/M, Post Episode AU: s05e19 Vegas, Sentinel/Guide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 07:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16656604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: John was certain he was going to die in the desert. Heshould've. But fate intervened once again, and now he finds himself with heightened senses, a new connection with an old lover, and a possible new lover on the horizon. If only he can make better decisions this time.





	A Strange Thing Happened in the Desert

**Author's Note:**

> Written for:
> 
> Whatif_AU: Sentinel/Guide AU  
> McSheplets #293: Season Five  
> H/C Bingo: Isolation

John was dying.

His life’s blood was oozing out of him and staining the desert sand red, and there was nothing he could do about it. He swore he could feel each individual red blood cell leaving his body. Was that a by-product of imminent death? That he was so in tune with his own body?

He hated going out like that, flat on his back. All he could see was smoke from the blasted trailer, and the sky. It had been his, once. Before he’d ruined everything. Before he’d given up. John turned his head to the side, tears slipping unbidden from his eyes.

There was a loud swishing sound, like someone sweeping across sandpaper, and something moved into John’s eyeline. He had to blink a few times to clear his vision. It was a gecko. John half expected it to launch into a spiel about car insurance, but after a second or two of looking at him it scurried on its way. The swishing sound was the noise the lizard’s feet made in the sand.

Alone again. Alone for eternity. He wondered how long it would take him to be reduced to bleached bones once the buzzards had their go. Unless they preferred barbecue, though there probably wasn’t much left of the Wraith. John was so cold even the fire blazing nearby couldn’t warm him up.

He blinked again and found himself face to muzzle with a dusty-looking fox. What was this, _Wild Kingdom_? John tried to shoo it away, but he couldn’t move his arms. And the only sound that came out of his mouth was a rusty whisper that tasted like blood. The fox didn’t seem inclined to move on.

 _Have at it_ , John wanted to say. _You can be the first one at the all-you-can-eat Sheppard buffet_.

He could feel himself slipping away, and idly wondered if this was the strength of character McKay had been hoping for. Shame he’d never get to ask him.

*o*o*o*

Everything was wrong. John could tell even before he opened his eyes. It sounded like someone was working a jackhammer right next to him, and his skin was so itchy it burned. The smell of ammonia was so strong it made him retch.

“Hey, easy there!” someone shouted at him.

John clapped his hands over his ears. “Too loud!” he tried to shout back, but his throat was so dry nothing really came out.

The next few minutes were sheer torture. Everything was too loud, too hard, too much. It seemed to take forever for John to realize he was in a hospital, until a doctor came and put something in his IV that made the world go soft and hazy and bearable. McKay was there, too, his expensive suit stained and rumpled, his face worried.

John lost track of time after that. Whenever they tried to wean him off sedation his whole body went haywire. The regular doctors didn’t seem to know anything, so McKay had John transported from Sin City to Colorado Springs and the shadowy government agency he worked for. They used some kind of alien tech on him, which healed his bullet wound and fixed a persistent ache in John’s knee but couldn’t stop whatever else was happening to him. 

It seemed like McKay was always there when John woke up, but that couldn’t be right. The man was busy waging war against aliens, or something like that. Wasn’t he? It was hard to think with all the drugs turning his brain into cotton.

One day there was a new face at John’s bedside, a masculine face framed by an over-abundance of curly brown hair.

“Hello in there,” he said cheerfully, his voice pleasantly deep.

“Who’re you?” John asked, his tongue feeling too thick for his mouth.

“Blair Sandburg. I’m here to help you.” He produced a plastic cup with a straw, and helped John take a few sips of tepid water.

“Doctor?”

“Yes, but not the kind you’re thinking of. So, here’s the thing. We’ve taken you off the drugs.”

John was sure that was bad, but his brain was a little muddled and couldn’t tell him why it was bad. “McKay?”

“You want Dr. McKay? Sure, we can do that.” Blair gestured to someone John couldn’t see. “I want to make this process as easy as possible for you, Detective.”

As soon as McKay entered the room John felt himself relax, just a little. He must’ve gotten used to the man’s presence during his hospitalization. John turned to look at McKay but got distracted by the fox sitting at the end of his bed.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked it. Had the fox somehow tagged along during his rescue from the desert? It certainly didn’t seem sanitary to have it in a hospital room.

“John? Who are you talking to?” Blair asked.

“Him.” John gestured towards his feet. The fox stared implacably back at him. “Followed me, I guess.”

“Interesting.”

“How is that interesting?” McKay snapped. “He’s hallucinating. I told you it was a bad idea to take him off the meds.”

“You really need to trust me, man,” Blair said. “I’m the foremost expert in this stuff.”

“Mystic mumbo jumbo,” McKay grumbled.

John’s arms started to itch, as if he had a whole legion of ants crawling across his skin, and he suddenly remembered why the drugs were good and not being on the drugs was bad. He started scratching, which only made the itch worse, and Blair stilled his hands. He was stronger than he looked.

“You need to dial it down,” Blair said. “Can you picture a dial in your mind? A big dial labeled touch?”

John squirmed, the itch taking his whole focus. “What?”

“He’s a pilot, you idiot. Sheppard, throttle.” McKay reached out and put his hand on John’s arm, and John let out a breath as the insane itching receded just enough to not make him want to crawl out of his own skin. “See the stick, okay? And close the throttle.”

It was ridiculous, what they were asking him to do. A game a child would play. But how could John say no? McKay believed in him when he didn’t even believe in himself. And he’d saved John’s life, somehow. How else had he gotten out of the desert? John closed his eyes and pictured it, a collective labeled with touch, and he mentally twisted the throttle closed.

The relief was immediate. The itching on his skin was nearly gone. What the fuck?

“Isn’t that better?” Blair asked.

John started to nod and then his hearing went crazy. It sounded like the whole of Cheyenne Mountain was talking at once, voices overlapping voices so it was impossible to make out what any one person was saying. He clapped his hands over his ears, but that didn’t help. And then McKay was there, forcing John to look at him as he made a twisting motion with his hand. 

Right. Throttle.

By the time John had created a mental throttle for each of his five senses he was as wrung out as a wet dishrag. Blair had been encouraging him the entire time, but it was McKay that helped him focus and kept him from losing it.

John slipped into a more normal sleep, the fox gone, and McKay’s hand wrapped loosely around his wrist.

*o*o*o*

It turned out there was something in John’s genetic make-up that went from dormant to active when he was bleeding out alone in the desert. According to Blair, isolation was a key ingredient in the process. There was even a name for it.

“I’m a what?” John asked. He was sitting up in his hospital bed, having finally eaten a meal that didn’t come through an IV drip. He was feeling pretty good, all things considered, though he desperately wished for a shave.

“You’re a Sentinel,” Blair explained patiently. “Historically, this was a tribe’s strongest warrior. With his five heightened senses, he could sense danger before it arrived, and help his people find food and water during lean times.”

“Tribes? We talking loin cloths and spears here?”

Blair chuckled. “For the South American tribes that Burton studied, yes. But obviously the role of the Sentinel has changed with time and circumstance. It’s a rare gift, Detective. And you can really help a lot of people with it.”

John wasn’t sure how he felt about that. So far the sensory thing had caused him nothing but trouble. The throttle imagery worked, but he had to keep mentally readjusting to keep his senses from spiking. Maybe if he could get a handle on it, he could use the senses to his advantage. Get back the money he’d lost when he foolishly decided to try and take out that Wraith.

He sure as hell wasn’t going to start helping people. That’s not the kind of person he was. Not anymore.

“What makes you the expert?” he asked Blair. The guy certainly didn’t give off a doctor vibe, not in ripped jeans and a flannel shirt with a visitor’s badge clipped to it.

“I’ve made a study of Sentinels. Read all of Burton’s research, did some of my own. You’d be surprised how many people have one or two heightened senses. I got lucky enough to meet a man with all five, and we partnered up.”

“Yeah? Is he a big damn hero?”

Blair’s expression didn’t change, but his face flushed just a little. “He is, actually. He’s a police detective like you. He’s saved a lot of lives because of those senses, including mine. More than once.”

“So what does he need you for?” John didn’t know why he was feeling so combative. He’d been given a second chance, he should be grateful. He just hadn’t counted on starting his life over with super powers.

“I’m Jim’s Guide. I help him use his Sentinel senses effectively, and act as an anchor for him. I watch his back, so he can do the job he needs to do.”

More good news. Did they expect John to take on a partner, too? He was like Johnny Cash’s Solitary Man. He didn’t work well with others.

“Everything you need to know is in here,” Blair said, and tossed something on John’s lap. 

It was a book. _The Sentinel_ , by Blair Sandburg. John flipped it over and read the blurb on the back, the one underneath a picture of the author.

“This is fiction.”

“It’s fact, made to look like fiction.” Blair ran a hand through his curly hair. “Look, man, there’s a long story behind it that really isn’t here or there at the moment. The important part for you is that all my research is in that book. How you can use your senses, how to keep from zoning out, how to work with your Guide. It’s all there.”

John tossed the book on the beside tray. “I don’t need a Guide.”

“That’s what they all say. But trust me. You will.”

John didn’t bother to argue the point. Who’d want to be with him anyway?

*o*o*o*

The SGC gave John a room in their windowless mountain bunker, and he swore he could feel the weight of all that earth and rock bearing down on him. Dr. Keller – he’d known she was a fraud the first time he’d met her at the morgue – had run more tests on him and it turned out his fucking genes were just chock full of “special gifts” that he’d be more than happy to return.

He wasn’t exactly a prisoner, but the SGC wasn’t letting him go, either. They sent every bigwig under the Mountain to talk to him and explain the importance of the work they did and why it was vital that he joined them. Woolsey had been the only one to thank him for trying to stop the Wraith and nearly dying in the process. 

McKay had been suspiciously absent.

Eventually he was foisted off on Major Evan Lorne, who gave him a tour of the areas under the mountain he was cleared for. He wasn’t chatty, which John appreciated. He was tired of having people tell him how lucky he was.

“Don’t you get tired of never seeing the sun?” John asked.

“I get plenty of sun offworld, sir,” Lorne replied. “And I do have an apartment in town. I don’t get to stay there as much as I’d like, but I’m not a mole person.”

That surprised a laugh out of John. Lorne was deferential but funny, and he looked like the proverbial boy next door, dimples and all. He probably had a score of women – or men, John certainly wasn’t one to judge – eager to help him take the edge off spending so much time underground.

“Do you know Dr. McKay?” John asked as casually as possible. 

“Everyone does. He’s the smartest guy at the SGC. And he’ll tell you that, too.”

“Does he go offworld?”

“Apart from traveling to Atlantis, no, not as far as I know. Too dangerous.”

“For the aliens, or for him?” John joked. 

Lorne grinned, and ushered John through one of the countless nondescript doors. On the other side was a large room and what could only be the Stargate. It was much bigger than John had imagined, an immense stone construct with a ramp leading up to the center of it. There was a group of people in green SGC uniforms and black tac vests standing at the ready.

“I thought you might like to see the Gate in action,” Lorne said. “SG-16 is going out.”

“They don’t all look military,” John observed. It was in the way they held themselves more than anything else.

“Mostly scientists,” Lorne confirmed. “They discovered an anomaly the last time they were out, and today they’re going to make a more concerted study of it.”

The Gate started to move with a deep, grumbling grinding sound, and sections of it started to light up. John immediately throttled back on hearing, struggling a little to get the levels just right.

 _Chevron One encoded_ , said a voice over a loudspeaker. John turned to look and saw there was a glass-walled control room above them. _Chevron Two encoded_.

He turned back to watch as the offworld team did final checks of their gear. When the seventh chevron was locked in, a flood of water seemed to explode from the Gate, only to be sucked back into a shimmering blue puddle that filled the stone ring.

John couldn’t take his eyes off it, the way it rippled and sparkled, every shade of blue represented in an every-changing kaleidoscope of color. But there was something deeper to it, something he could almost see, something he could almost hear. Everything else fell away as he threw all his focus into that puddle that wasn’t really a puddle.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the Gate, trying to see beyond the surface of it, but the next thing he knew McKay was holding his hand, which was pressed against McKay’s broad chest.

“Have you checked back in, Sheppard? Because I’m a very busy man.”

Despite the snap to his words, McKay didn’t let go. John could feel the beat of the other man’s heart beneath his hand, and it was at once not enough and also much too intimate. He pulled his hand away.

“That’s called a zone out,” Blair said helpfully from the sidelines. “That’s what happens when you focus too much with one sense at the expense of the others. Dr. McKay, you did a very good job pulling him out.”

“More good news,” John drawled. “This Sentinel thing is the gift that keeps giving, isn’t it?”

“You’ll learn to control it,” Blair promised.

“Eventually.” A man stepped up behind Blair and put his hands on Blair’s shoulders. He was taller, and John would bet former military. Blair turned and looked up at him, his face an open book that showed happiness and affection. 

“They talk you into signing up, big guy?”

“I’m no astronaut,” the guy – presumably Blair’s partner, Jim – replied with an easy grin. “I did get to go target shooting with some pretty cool weapons.”

“Are we done here?” McKay asked impatiently. “I’m in the middle of preparations for my return trip, and time is of the essence.”

Return trip? Oh, right. John forgot that McKay was stationed in another galaxy. There was no reason that should make him feel short of breath, but it did.

“We still have a lot to discuss,” Blair protested. “If you’re going to be John’s Guide, you have to –”

“What?” John asked at the same time Rodney said, “I never agreed to that.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then John had to get out of there. He barely noticed Lorne falling into step alongside him as he made a break for the main corridor, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Can I take you back to your room, sir?” 

“I need to get out of this damn mountain.”

“We can do that,” Lorne replied, surprising John. He stopped walking.

“We can?”

“I know it can be a little much, being stuck down here. I can take you to one of our secured areas topside, get a little fresh air.”

John wanted that more than he could say. He just needed some time to think, to clear his head.

“Let’s go.”

*o*o*o*

John would never take fresh air and sunshine for granted again. He tipped his head up and closed his eyes, relaxing as the warm day embraced him. He had to do more jiggering with the mental controls, and everything was a little sharper and more detailed than normal, but overall it wasn’t bad.

He and Lorne were sitting in the grass. Lorne had a sketchbook, one that fit into a pocket in his cargo pants, and he seemed perfectly happy not to talk. 

John didn’t know where he was supposed to go from here on out. There was no option for a normal life, not with the Sentinel thing and everything he now knew about aliens and the danger Earth was in. Where did that leave him? Fucked, that was where. Whether he made his own choices, or the universe made them for him, it all seemed to end in disaster.

“Can you give us a minute, Major?”

John sighed. Of course McKay tracked him down. He opened his eyes and saw Lorne move a discreet distance away. McKay looked at the grass distastefully before sitting down.

“Do you know how hard it is to get grass stains out of imported silk?”

“Nope.”

McKay looked down at his hands, then back up at John. “Look. I know you’ve had to absorb a lot in a very short amount of time. I wish you had the luxury of being able to take a week, two weeks, and decide what you want to do with the rest of your life. But the truth is we need you. Even with only partial information and no technology, you beat us to the punch at every point of the Wraith investigation. You’re smarter than you look.”

“Thanks,” John said dryly. 

“Our Earth is safe from the Wraith, but a lot of other realities are in big, big trouble. Zelenka and I are going to be working on the problem from Atlantis, and I think you can help us. Your…unique perspective would be of value.”

“You don’t need me. I’m just a burnt-out cop who was ready to take the money and run, remember?”

“But you didn’t. I remember that too.”

It had been a close call, though. John didn’t feel any guilt about cutting and running. He wasn’t anyone’s idea of a hero. If only that damn case hadn’t nagged at him. If only the pieces of the puzzle hadn’t fallen into place. And maybe he wasn’t a great cop, but he knew how to close a case.

“Sentinel thing would probably be useful,” he said. It was interesting to watch the changes in McKay’s expression, especially with the heightened senses to clue him in on the more subtle changes. Maybe Blair was right. Could be handy for interrogations.

“We’ll take any edge over the Wraith we can get,” McKay said. 

“Did you read the book? Seems like there’s a lot of levels to this Sentinel-Guide thing. I’m not sure Mrs. Dr. McKay would approve.” John looked pointedly at the wedding band on McKay’s finger.

McKay was really good at maintaining eye contact, and a detached demeanor. “We’re divorced.”

John leaned in and deliberately focused on McKay’s mouth. “So you’d be okay with all the…touching. And sensory bonding.”

McKay’s face flushed, all the way up to his ears, and when his tongue darted out to wet his lips, John couldn’t help wondering what he tasted like.

“We…uh. We can make it work. Professionally, I mean. Whatever it takes to get you on board.”

Was he seriously offering to pimp himself out just to get John to Atlantis?

“Major Lorne,” John said. “I think I’ve had enough fresh air for today.”

He left McKay sitting in the grass, glowering. It was a good look on him.

*o*o*o*

_John stood on a windy bluff, looking out over a rough sea. He didn’t recognize the location; it was no-where he’d ever been before. And everything was tinted blue: the seagrass, the waves, the clouds scudding across the sky. Off in the distance he could just make out the tip of something solid. A ship’s mast, maybe, the way it bobbed up and down._

_“Shep.”_

_One word, but John heard it over the wind and the waves as if it had been shouted. He slowly turned to see the man who’d come to stand beside him, a band of emotion tightening around his chest as he did so._

_“Dutch.”_

_“You look good.”_

_Dutch looked as he did the last time John had seen him alive. Before that fateful mission. He was wearing his desert camo, a big grin on his face, and seeing him felt like a physical blow to John. He couldn’t catch his breath._

_“I know, you weren’t expecting to see me. Take a breath, pal, before you pass out.”_

_John sucked in a shuddering breath. There was so much he wanted to say, foremost amongst them an apology. He could’ve done more, tried harder. Saved Dutch, and the others that died during the failed rescue mission. He wanted to say how much he missed Dutch, how much the man had meant to him. How the loss of him was a void that had never been filled._

_“Where are we?” he asked instead._

_“I don’t know the name of it,” Dutch said. “I just know it’s important to you.”_

_“I don’t get it.”_

_“Well, I don’t really get it either. But when they explained the situation I volunteered.”_

_John furrowed his brow. “They who?”_

_“Call them the Powers that Be,” Dutch said with a shrug. “They said you needed help. So here I am.”_

_“Help with what?”_

_“Don’t be dense, Shep. You’re some kind of superhero now, and apparently that comes with a bunch of mystical crap. I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but…I couldn’t let someone else come.”_

_John couldn’t imagine who else would’ve been sent, or by whom. His militant grandfather, who had a fatal stroke at the Thanksgiving table? His mother, who died of liver disease brought on by raging alcoholism? His reckless cousin Butchie, who drove his motorcycle into an eighteen-wheeler when he was twenty-two?_

_“I’m glad it’s you,” John said around a lump in his throat the size of a small asteroid._

_“C’mere, stupid.” Dutch pulled him in for a hug, and it was so familiar John felt it as a physical pain. “The brainy doc. You need to stick with him. He can get you here.”_

_He turned John around, so he was facing the ocean again. Just like that, the seas calmed, and the sky cleared, and what John had taken for a mast turned out to be the shining silver tower of a huge floating city._

_It could only be Atlantis. And as soon as John set eyes on it, he wanted to be there. Needed to be there._

_“You know I don’t believe in all that destiny crap, Spaceman,” Dutch said, using John’s old call sign. “But that city? That’s where you’re supposed to be.”_

_“Okay,” John said._

*o*o*o*

One incident could entirely alter the course of a life. McKay had said that to John when they first met. Back then it had been in reference to John’s life taking a turn for the worse while alternate-John had gone on to be a hero in two different galaxies. Now it was John’s turn to make a choice and follow a path.

John knocked on the metal door of McKay’s room, a Tupperware bowl full of brownies in one hand. He felt stupid, like a kid going on his first date and knowing he was way out of his league, but he’d read the mission report. He knew what had happened out in the desert, the steps McKay had taken to keep him alive long enough to get to the hospital.

McKay opened the door, a white-board marker clamped between his teeth and ink staining his fingers. He was dressed more casually than John had ever seen him, in a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt that said _I’m With Genius_ and had an arrow pointing straight up.

“What?” he mumbled around the marker.

“Peace offering,” John replied. He held out the brownies and McKay’s aggravated expression morphed into one of pleasure.

McKay spit out the marker. “I can give you ten minutes.”

John followed him inside. Clearly the SGC regarded McKay as some sort of VIP, because his room was much larger than John’s. The minimal amount of furniture in the living room had been pushed to one side to make room for two large rolling white boards, both of which were covered in schematics and equations.

The math wasn’t very elegant, but John felt that old rush as he read the equations. Math had been just one more thing he’d given up on, with the exception of the odd Sudoku puzzle, and he was surprised to realize just how much he missed it.

“What are you working on?” John asked.

“Confidential,” McKay replied. He was already working his way through the first brownie. “Who made these?”

“Major Lorne. Apparently, he’s some kind of chef.”

“He’s a culinary genius, if these are anything to go by.” He very blatantly didn’t offer any to John.

“I want in on Atlantis,” John said, getting right to the point.

“Why?” McKay countered, chocolate on his teeth. “The SGC has made it clear they want to keep you here, use your skills to fight the Goa’uld.”

“Mystical mumbo jumbo,” John said, borrowing McKay’s words from when they were setting up the mental throttles. “I just know I’m meant to be there. If you won’t take me, I’m sure I could appeal to Zelenka.”

“Zelenka doesn’t swing that way.”

That hadn’t been what John had meant, but he had the sense McKay knew that and was just trying to wind him up. Well, two could play at that game.

“But you do. Don’t you.”

McKay’s face flushed, and he clutched the bowl of brownies more tightly. “If this is some kind of blackmail attempt –”

“You’re my Guide, McKay. I’ve read the book, I’ve talked to Blair. It’s definitely you. Like it or not, we need to be together.”

The thing was that John could tell McKay liked it. That he wanted to be with John. He just wouldn’t admit it. Maybe this was the incident that would change the course of McKay’s life, too.

“You work alone. I’ve read your file.”

“I wasn’t a Sentinel then.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

John sighed. “You don’t want to work with me, that’s fine. I’m sure Blair can train someone else to do what you do. But I’m going to Atlantis one way or another.”

He turned to leave, then stopped and picked up a whiteboard marker. 

“Hey, leave that!” McKay flung the brownies aside and tried to intercept John, but he’d already changed the equation. 

“You had those two numbers transposed. Whatever it is you’re trying to do, it’ll work better now.”

John tossed the marker to McKay and had every intention of leaving.

“Wait,” McKay said. He scanned the whiteboard. “How did you know to do that?”

“You read my file,” John said flippantly. “You know all about me, remember.”

“It’s one thing to read about your proficiency in the field of study you got your Master’s in. It’s another thing to see it.” McKay studied him for a long moment, his gaze like a laser. “Are you sure about Atlantis? It’s no day at the beach there. We’ve made some enemies, the Wraith among them.”

“You’ll find I don’t scare easily.” John leaned against the door and crossed his arms. “And neither do you. Turns out you’re a big damn hero in your own right. I can read reports, too.”

McKay had saved the day countless times, using his big brain and ability to think on his feet. He wasn’t afraid to take a risk, which is exactly what he’d done in talking to John about the Stargate program in the first place.

“Colonel Torres is a very capable leader,” McKay said. “Her Marines would do anything for her. But she sticks very close to the military playbook, and in Pegasus we need someone who has the freedom to think outside the box. Someone smart enough to find alternative ways of getting things done. I think that someone is you, Sheppard.”

“Because of the other Sheppard you met,” John guessed. Would he be forever living in his own shadow? He could never be that other guy, that selfless paragon of the SGC.

“Because I know you. Because I can read between the lines, and I did my homework. Maybe some of your choices didn’t work out, but I don’t fault you for making them. You did the best you could with the information at hand.”

McKay was slightly flushed, and his heart was beating fast. John wasn’t sure what any of that meant, but the overall impression he was getting was that McKay was…embarrassed?

“So are we good, then?” John asked. “Will you sign off on me going to Atlantis?”

“I need to consult with Dr. Sandburg first. But…yes.”

John grinned. “You won’t be sorry.”

*o*o*o*

“’m really sorry,” McKay slurred.

John stood aside so McKay could stumble into his quarters, which consisted of little more than a bed and a bathroom. The man reeked of alcohol and John had to throttle back on smell.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Vodka. ‘m used to the swill Radek makes, had to drink twice as much.”

John steered McKay to the bed and had him sit down before he keeled over. He also retrieved the small garbage pail from the bathroom. Just in case.

“There a reason you’re drinking yourself into oblivion?”

McKay squinted up at him. “’s your fault. Too smart. Too…slinky.”

John looked down at himself. Slinky? That certainly wasn’t a look he was going for. “Do you want me to apologize?”

“No!” McKay flapped a hand at him. “’s my fault too. Read your file. Too many times. ‘s like, I get you, y’know? Reckless ‘cause you loved him, loved him so much nothing else mattered.”

“You don’t know anything about him,” John said flatly. “I don’t care what the fucking report says.”

“I never felt like that for anyone, in my whole life.” McKay grabbed one of John’s pillows and hugged it to his chest. “No-one felt that for me. Liability, they say. But what’s life without connections?”

Clearly McKay was a maudlin drunk. John hoped he wasn’t going to start crying or something like that; he was ill-equipped to handle emotional breakdowns, his own or other people’s.

“McKay –”

“See, you’re just as unlikeable as me. An’ we could be unlikeable together, because I really like you. Tha’s why I had to meet you.”

Oh, yeah. John was most assuredly not equipped to deal with this. “We should talk about this when you’re sober.”

“You wanna come to Atlantis. And I wan’ you to come. I could be your Guide, like that hairy little guy said. ‘s lonely out there, Sheppard. You know.”

“I do know, but I’m not talking to you about this while you’re drunk.”

John pulled McKay up off the bed and propelled him out the door. It wouldn’t be right to let the man just stumble around the corridors, so John walked him back to his quarters. McKay leaned heavily against him.

“Drink some water and try to sleep this off,” John suggested when they got to McKay’s door.

“I know I’m not him,” McKay said, his eyes already at half-mast. “But ‘m pretty damn good.”

“Noted.”

McKay stumbled into his quarters and closed the door. John stayed outside, listening, to make sure the guy didn’t fall and crack his head open. He heard McKay run the water in his bathroom, felt like some kind of peeping creep when he listened to McKay take a piss, and didn’t walk away until he heard McKay fall into his bed and start snoring.

John walked back to his quarters, hands in his pockets. He had a lot to think about, particularly McKay’s confession that he was attracted to John. Just from reading his file? That was…weird. But then John got the impression that McKay defied expectations. And if he was being honest with himself, McKay had ticked a lot of his boxes when they first met, despite the bizarre circumstances.

McKay wouldn’t take John’s bullshit. Or coddle him. Or make a big fuss about the Sentinel thing beyond its usefulness in defending Atlantis.

McKay looked just as good in a high-end suit as he did in jeans.

There was the very strong possibility that John was going to screw things up, the way he always did.

*o*o*o*

_“You do know the SGC has counselors,” Dutch said, amusement lacing his voice._

_“Fuck that,” John replied. “Isn’t that why you’re here? To advise me, or some shit like that?”_

_They were back on that bluff, sitting on the edge. It was a gentle sea this time and Atlantis was out there sparkling in the distance._

_“What do you want from me, Shep? Absolution? You saved the world, for crissakes. Isn’t that enough?”_

_“Didn’t save you,” John muttered._

_“That wasn’t your fault. Seriously, there’s nothing you could’ve done that would’ve saved me. And I’m not just blowing smoke here.” Dutch looked off into the distance. “I can’t speak for the others, but your intentions were good.”_

_“The road to hell and all that.”_

_“What’s the real problem here? And don’t bullshit me, because I can still read you like a cheap dime store novel.”_

_John leaned back on his hands. “What if this thing between McKay and I…what if it turns into something, and then…”_

_“And then you lose him, too?” Dutch guessed. “That’s a risk everyone takes, Shep. That’s life. Are you getting any joy out of being alone?”_

_“No.”_

_“So grab it while you can. For a day, for a year, for the rest of your life. No-one knows the future.” Dutch nudged John with his shoulder. “You know what really pisses me off? Seeing you wasting yourself like you have been. Being less than you should be.”_

_“This is getting dangerously close to Hallmark movie territory,” John said, half-jokingly. He understood what Dutch was saying, but it was one thing for a ghost, or whatever Dutch was, to forgive him. Forgiving himself, putting himself back out there, that was the hard part._

_“Shut up, stupid. Let me have my moment here. From what I understand, this Sentinel and Guide thing is pretty intense. It’s a major commitment for both of you. But I think it would be good for you. You need someone in your life, looking out for you. God knows you won’t do it for yourself.” Dutch pulled up a handful of blue grass and tossed it into the air, letting the wind take it. “And I don’t know this for sure, but I have the sense that in those alternate universes McKay was talking about? The two of you were always a team.”_

_“Don’t say the words ‘meant to be’ or I’m tossing your blue ass into the ocean,” John growled. “It wasn’t your destiny to die in Afghanistan.”_

_“Never said it was. But maybe you and I wouldn’t have been able to maintain a relationship outside the sandbox. Have you thought of that? Even if I lived, we still might not be together.”_

_“When did you get so deep?”_

_“I’m taking a class at the learning annex,” Dutch joked._

*o*o*o*

Major Lorne was a helpful man to know. When John explained what he was looking to do, the Major had no trouble putting it all together. If he wasn’t already on the list of personnel going to Atlantis, John was going to make sure that was remedied. Surely they needed someone with Lorne’s organizational skills and connections.

“What is all this?” McKay asked suspiciously. 

John had brought him to a storage closet that had been mostly unused. Major Lorne had cleaned it out, cleaned it up, and turned it into a romantic dining nook. The table had a white linen cloth on it, fancy china, even one of those electric candles that flickered just like the real thing.

“This is dinner.”

John didn’t go as far as pulling out McKay’s chair. They weren’t in a romcom. He did pull the silver covers off the dishes, though, and put them on a little cart that had been set off to the side.

“Everything is citrus free.”

“Beer in glasses. Fancy.” McKay sat down and shook out his napkin, draping it over his lap. “What’s the occasion?”

John sat opposite him and took a fortifying swallow of beer before answering. “We’re starting a new partnership. I thought we should do something special to mark it.”

McKay paused, a forkful of braised lamb chop halfway to his mouth. “Funny. You don’t seem like the sentimental type to me, Sheppard.”

“It’s not sentimental, Rodney,” John said, putting a little emphasis on the man’s name. “You’re going to be my Guide. I’m going to be your Sentinel. It’s kind of a big deal.”

McKay made a noncommittal noise that morphed into something much more pornographic when he tasted the lamb.

“Who made this?” he asked with his mouth full.

“Major Lorne. I think you need to get him to Atlantis.”

“God, yes.”

As John suspected, dinner was an excellent way to get McKay to loosen up. The man had a slightly disturbing relationship with his food, one that was putting a whole host of dirty thoughts in John’s head, but he seemed less awkward and stiff. 

“So,” John said as they started the dessert course. “The other night you said some things I thought we should address.”

“Stop right there, Shep…I mean, John. I was blindingly drunk. You can’t hold any of what I said against me.”

There was a smear of chocolate on McKay’s lip that John desperately wanted to lick off. He shifted in his seat.

“Oh yes I can. I really want to give this thing between us a try.”

McKay’s eyes widened, and he set down his fork. “Really?”

“I should warn you, though, that my last relationship cost eight people their lives.” John was deadly serious about that. He needed to remind McKay what was at stake for him if he agreed to be with John.

“This sensory bonding thing you need to do. Does it require a horizontal surface?”

“Only if we want to be thorough.”

McKay polished off the rest of his dessert in record time and gulped down the last few swallows of beer. “Let’s go.”

“Just like that?” John asked. His skin was flushing hot, but he didn’t bother with the throttles. He _wanted_ to feel it.

“You’re worth it,” McKay said. “Even if you don’t think you are. And what I lack in social skills I make up for in other areas, if you need any further inducement.”

John did not.

Before they made use of McKay’s bigger room and bigger bed, John pulled him in close and kissed him, finally getting that bit of chocolate. Even better was the taste of McKay himself, a heady blend of caffeine, hops, and semi-sweet chocolate. There’d be no throttling back this time.

*o*o*o*

One incident can entirely alter the course of a life. For John, it was the pursuit of a monster stalking the streets of Sin City, one he had no way of beating. But that monster brought him into the orbit of Dr. M. Rodney McKay. It brought him enhanced senses, a fox that only he could see, and an alien city more beautiful than anything John could have imagined.

“Things are going to change around here,” Rodney said, standing next to John on the balcony of their apartment.

The city was spread out before them, and beyond the piers was the Lantean Sea. John imagined he could see the bluff where he’d find Dutch again, the next time he needed a push in the right direction.

“For better or worse?” John asked.

“Better, obviously,” Rodney replied with a snort. “I think my intellect works better when I’ve had frequent endorphin rushes.”

“You can just say orgasms.”

“That is what I said.”

John rolled his eyes. He didn’t need to use his super senses to know that Rodney was feeling smug. John was feeling a little smug himself. He’d made the right decision, coming to Atlantis. The moment he’d stepped through the Gate he’d felt at home in a way he never had anywhere on Earth. Some of that might have been the deep bond he had with Rodney, but a lot of it was just the city herself. John would gladly give his life for either of them.

“Come on,” John said, tugging Rodney back inside. “Let’s give those endorphins a run for their money. We need you at top form.”

“I’m always at top form,” Rodney replied. But he was already unbuckling his pants.

John opened every throttle. He didn’t want to miss a thing.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** This was supposed to be short. But it just kept getting longer and longer. Sorry to anyone who was hoping for some sexytimes. I contemplated it, but then I didn’t think it was completely necessary to get all up in that. Also, I just really wanted to finish this thing so I could get back to my actual deadline fics. LOL!


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